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Donald Trump, KFC, and Buddha

Larry Rankin, an experiened writer, enjoys creative writing in all forms, from literary to mainstream.

Author's Note:

Join us in a bit of absurd comedy written somewhat in the style of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Magic Realism.

The Best Part of Waking Up

Stony started his day the same way he started almost every day, by sitting up, then a stretch, a yawn, and the words, “I sure could use a weed about now.” It was a quote from S.E. Hinton’s Outsiders, or at least his befuddled version of it.

Statements like these, the stilted, unnatural references of academics and people who otherwise just didn’t understand drug lingo cracked him up to no end. S.E. Hinton wrote a fine book, but God bless her, when she wrote of counterculture, she was writing about a people she only understood in passing, and such is evidenced at times in her writing.

Anyway, at least with Stony, we had a life imitating art sort of scenario. He would often say things like, “I sure could use a weed about now,” or “Man I’m hooked on the marijuana.” He was the sort of person who loved to spend nights getting baked and watching movies like Reefer Madness.

Stony was a simple man, small of build with a tiny paunch at his center. His graying hair and laugh lines showed an age that his demeanor did not. His choice of clothes was loose and groovy; his Buddhist décor screamed peace, love, and simplicity.


Stony was the sort of person that would stand vigil outside in the freezing cold at night in protest for a baby rapist and murderer about to be put to death, not so much because he valued the baby killer’s life but because he valued all life. He was also the sort of person that could be taken off task for a whole day because he got caught up doing something like following a butterfly.

I don’t want to say that Stony was stupid, because that’s an oversimplification. He was just fried.

Anyway, after “a weed,” Stony headed to his backyard, his pride and joy. And he really did work hard at it. The style of manicure was that messy, kempt style that is so popular in California. Plants grew haphazardly but with purpose. Stone pathways winded through the menagerie of herbs, tomato plants, flowers, and the occasional weed of medicinal importance.

All of this was surrounded by a rotten wood fence covered in vine, a sanctuary good enough for any hippie, except for the contradiction at its center. Stony had grown up with a pool. Some of his fondest memories were swimming in his family’s environmental no-no. When he had won his lawsuit against Hobby Lobby because the color and arrangement of their sign had given him debilitating carpal tunnel somehow, he couldn’t resist buying a home that had a small in-ground pool.

This August morning it looked so appealing. It was the time of day before it was so miserably hot. A tree cast shade over the water. The whole thing looked so inviting until the serenity was disturbed by the lunatical grunts, groans, and laughter of Colonel Jack next door.

The Right Honorable Colonel Jack

Colonel Jack got his name, not because he was ever involved in the military, but because like another man that went by colonel, he always wore a white suit and a southern style bowtie. He also wasn’t called Jack because his name was Jack. It was short for Jacka**.

Like Colonel Sanders, Colonel Jack was also prone to fits of violence and obscenity. (Really, that’s how Colonel Sanders was. If you don’t believe me, Google it. It’s worth a Google.) But unlike Colonel Sanders, his violence and rage was backed not by genius, but insanity.

So Colonel Jack was grunting and groaning and laughing his crazy laugh, splicing in the occasional flarin filth for good measure, and in Stony’s opinion, just really ruining a good high. And for whatever reason, this day curiosity got the best of Stony and required he have a look.

Between the ivy there was a hole in the wood fence that was probably more held together by termites at this point than they were facilitating its destruction. There was Colonel Jack in his customary white suit at a worktable in his shed. A blueprint was pinned to the wall indicating all manner of machinations of evil. And on the table lay what Stony would have recognized as looking like a garbage disposal, if Stony had been the least bit knowledgeable about anything other than gardening. The whole scene was somewhat reminiscent of an episode of Foghorn Leghorn.


A grunt! A laugh! “Kablewie!” A laugh, grunt, and burp! “I just hit this red button and Kablam! And there’s nothing you can do about it!!!” A fart and a giggle. “That one tickled my butthole, lol, lmao, yes, laughing my tickled a** off! One little push of this red button and no more Donald Trump, and there’s nothing you can do about it, F***ing Hippie!!!”

At this point Colonel Jack turns to the hole in the fence and Stony realizes the good Colonel has known he was there the whole time. “And there’s nothing you can do about it you stupid Hippie! Trump dies today!!”

Then with a dexterity not often seen in old, heavyset men, Colonel Jack gathers his red button, his maniacal device that looks quite a lot like a garbage disposal, and is on his way.

Stony’s Overwhelming Ethical Dilemma

At this point begins what we will call Stony’s overwhelming ethical dilemma. For obvious reasons Stony’s lifestyle choices don’t support the ideals of Mr. Trump. But all life has value. All life is precious. But this is the perfect time of day to go for a swim.


Now I realize that a normal person would pick up a phone and notify the authorities at this point, but to Stony phones were just the ultimate type of hassle; plus, his had quit working months ago, coinciding conveniently with his no longer paying his bill.

Another normal response in such a scenario would be to simply notify a neighbor, but this thought never so much as crossed Stony’s mind. Stony had seen on the news the day prior that Mr. Trump would be downtown. In his simple mind, the only way to help would be to speak with The Donald personally…after a swim though. There would be time for a swim.

Some Sweet Rides

Now a normal person has a normal vehicle. Our stoner Stony has a 1974 powder blue Ford Pinto that runs on vegetable oil. And it never failed that after the combination of seeing Colonel Jack and smelling the exhaust of his special car, Stony would find himself hungry, but not just hungry for anything: hungry for KFC.

Again the ethical dilemma: saving the life of a man he doesn’t very much like or going against the ground rules of his belief systems and eating the meat of a living animal at a conglomerate monster, no less.


All human life is valuable. I must save Donald Trump, but they’ll be time to stop for KFC first. It’s on the way, sort of.

So screaming down the freeway from suburbia to the city at all of 35 miles per hour, our hero is on the way to save Mr. Trump…after KFC of course. The craving and hunger pangs are just unbearable at this point.

And then a new development. The Pinto begins to sputter and huff and puff and Stony starts cursing his luck in the way only a laid back hippie can. “Seriously. What a bummer man. Why you gotta go and breakdown now of all times.”

If Stony had been a little more observant, he would have realized his car hadn’t failed him at all. He failed his car. If he had simply topped it off with some canola oil that morning, he would have been fine, but instead he was stranded on the side of the freeway.


For Love or Fried Chicken

In the distance Stony could see the skyline of the city where The Donald’s life hung in a balance. If only our intrepid hero could get there in time to save him. It was around this point that Stony looked back to the road from whence he came. There in the distance was a familiar shape slowly creeping closer. It was Colonel Jack seemingly floating along the breakdown lane. As the image became magnified, Stony could see Colonel Jack was riding a silver, battery powered Razor Scooter, death dealing device in tow.


Pointing to a sign on down the road, the honorable Colonel Jack makes but one prophetic statement as he slowly passes. “The treasure you seek is near!”

Stony remains leaning against his car dumbfounded before he finally regains himself and begins walking towards the sign. As the sign’s secrets begin to reveal themselves, Stony realizes it is one of those exit signs giving the food choices available there. On it he sees the branding of a familiar eatery.

This is when Stony faces his final moral dilemma on what has been, at least for a stoner, a very difficult day to process. Stony knows he can walk faster than a Razor Scooter ridden by an overweight male adult. So if he gets with it right now, he will beat Colonel Jack to Mr. Trump. On the other hand, he really wants some KFC. This is not the kind of hunger that will kill, mind you, but the kind of pot induced craving that hurts and annoys.

Stony reaches into his pocket. “I could really use a weed right now.” A quick smoke, and “Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner!!”

Final Resolution

Colonel Jack was immediately detained by authorities as soon as he was within in a block of Mr. Trump. Such weirdness as a man dressed like Colonel Sanders on a child’s electric scooter holding what looked like a garbage disposal was recognized instantaneously as a threat.

As Colonel Jack was tackled, he was heard to scream, “My virgins await!!!” while pressing his red button.

It was later discovered that the device of mass destruction was actually a modified garbage disposal. It was not, however, modified well. It was simply stuffed full of confetti. Might have been neat if this confetti were at least rigged to explode in a colorful display when Colonel Jack hit the button, but it wasn’t. Just shredded white paper haphazardly stuffed in there. The red button? Well, you know those “Easy” buttons that Staples sells that don’t really do anything?


Following his election, President Trump would eventually reach out to this Colonel Jack, and it would turn out they had a great deal in common. After becoming good friends, things would continue to progress, until the inevitable happened, and they both found marriage to not just be something they wanted but a physical necessity.

And with the advancement of DNA splicing, the two would eventually be able to create a child together. The child that resulted, a son, well, have you ever heard the saying, “The total is greater than the sum of the parts”? The insanity of this son was greater than the sum of his parents, but that’s another story for another day.

Stony would go on to have moral dilemmas, smoke pot, and swim in his pool, eventually becoming the first human being in recorded history to live to 140.


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